I’m excited to be a parent; to be a dad. Jessica, oddly, isn’t. Believe me, I’ve tried to get her to understand. She doesn’t get it. The child with the chocolate yogurt on their face, the ceaseless crying of the baby–I find these things to be wonderful. Jessica, she hates them. She’d prefer to not see them, or hear them, or smell their adorable poopy pants. I keep telling her that they can’t just “go away,” that he/she is only one-years-old and can’t walk. One time, at the park, she approached a crying baby boy and shoved a damp, snotty ball of tissue down his throat. I told her that she can’t do that anymore; that we can only use the “I’m so sorry she was just released from the asylum” excuse so many times. I suppose, in retrospect, I should have seen this coming. The day before our wedding, at the rehearsal dinner I walked in on her punching herself in the tummy saying, “you will never happen.”
But I digress.
Parenting isn’t in my future. Unless I put her down. Although I’m not willing, just yet, to do that. I’ll keep you posted.
P.S. I’m not kidding.
P.P.S. Okay, fine. I’m kidding. Jessica wants to be a parent too. She adores kids. But I hate that I have to explain that. But I foresee that I must.